


Unnatural Selection

by J_Baillier



Series: You Go To My Head [20]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anaesthetist John, Angst, Autism Spectrum, Childhood Trauma, Established Relationship, Family Issues, Family Secrets, M/M, Marriage, Medical husbands, Motherhood, Neurosurgeon Sherlock, Therapy, coping skills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:47:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26603959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Baillier/pseuds/J_Baillier
Summary: Sherlock and Violet are learning to navigate their reshaping relationship. Is honesty always the best policy, or are some secrets best left buried?
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Parents, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: You Go To My Head [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/392395
Comments: 200
Kudos: 187





	1. Armistice

**Author's Note:**

> [[an index and guide to all my Sherlock stories](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25011148)]
> 
> This story deals with the difficult choices and emotions the parents of special needs children experience, from the perspective of someone who had to parent such a child decades ago when ASD was still not very well defined and known. Some readers with personal connections to these things may find some of the content upsetting or even triggering.

After being oblivious to breakfast due to an early morning research inspiration keeping him glued to his laptop, Sherlock is ravenous. He slogs to the kitchen and snatches a still-warm bit of freshly baked shortbread from a basket on the island just before his mother's hand attempts to slap his away.

"Those are for the Fultons!" Violet Holmes complains most indignantly. "Found a recipe with a bit less sugar since Angela's got diabetes, now."

"Diabetics can eat whatever they want, Mother," Sherlock chides. He's aware of the superior tone he uses with her when it comes to medical matters and sees little reason to alter it when she's acting ridiculously. "As long as they balance their overall diet and use enough insulin to avoid hyperglycaemia, the occasional treat is fine."

"Yes, yes, of course," Violet fusses and lifts the basket onto a high shelf on the cookbook case.

"I'm taller than you," Sherlock points out and drops to a chair by the brick wall before taking another bite. "I can easily reach that."

"But you _won't_ ," Violet warns.

"There's enough for an army." The light in the oven is on, and his mother hasn't wiped clean the kitchen surfaces so another batch must be in the making.

Violet is shaking her head, now, as she opens the oven door and glares at the baking tray laden with still raw shortbread. "Thank goodness I didn't have _two_ boys with a typical teen's appetite."

"Then again, Mycroft's always eaten for two. Perhaps he had a twin he devoured in the womb."

Violet's eyes go wide. " _Sherlock!_ That is mean, not to mention terribly disturbing."

He gives her an unaffected glance and lifts his bare feet on a footstool by the armchair. "John would have laughed."

"John is polite."

Violet's youngest rolls his eyes. "John thinks I'm funny. Not that it's always intentional."

"Is that the kind of break room talk you doctors do? Unsavoury jokes about sensitive topics?"

"Usually, it's worse."

Sherlock makes a mental note to steer the conversation somewhere else if Violet keeps nagging him about manners. He knows it's one of his pet peeves when it comes to her behaviour. After doing a lot of work with Dr Pichler on changing his own attitude towards dealing with her, he finds it a lot easier not to be as hurt and frustrated as he used to, by various things she says and does. There's a sense of truce between them — their interactions could now be described as generally amicable but far from affectionate. Things have gone so well lately, that Sherlock had agreed to spend a weekend in Sussex. This is the first time after that dreadful Christmas that he has agreed to a visit longer than just one evening, and has visited on his own only once — to watch the documentary in which he'd starred with his mother but returned home later that night.

It's been seven months since his and Violet's first appointment with Dr Pichler. So far, there have been four sessions. Sherlock has walked out of two of them, but the latest had been tentatively promising. They had compared perspectives on what happened with Victor. That had seemed to be eye-opening for Violet in particular. She'd known he had had very few, if any, friends during his childhood, but believed that he didn't even care for the company and approval of other children. That's what she'd been told by the so-called experts she and George had consulted, that their son had no interest in people, no empathy, no need for friendship or romantic involvement. That's why Victor had been such a crisis point — the way Sherlock had behaved towards him had challenged so many of those ideas which had been a guiding light for Violet's attempts to manage his interactions with his peers. Victor had been a threat, but not for the reasons Violet has volunteered before. He had been a threat because his and Sherlock's relationship and Sherlock's need for such a thing threatened to bring some of her failures to light. In trying to paint him as a drug-dispensing abuser, she had tried to push away those glaring truths.

It had been a relief for her when that… _thing_ with Victor all went up in flames, eventually. She took it as proof that he was just as vulnerable, gullible, weak and incapable of human interaction. Hence her concern that John was just the same as _'that horrid Victor_ ' — she never spoke of him without some exaggerated denominator. Thankfully, John had quickly proven her wrong regarding the nature of his intentions towards Sherlock. Still, she seems to treat John as the exception that proves all the imaginary rules in her head regarding Sherlock's encounters with other people.

_Speaking of…_

"Oh, my poor son-in-law, having those throat issues again. Isn't there anything for it?" Violet demands while washing her hands.

John was originally due to accompany him — things are always less tense with John around — but he is currently buried under blankets with a packet of penicillin and a bottle of ibuprofen. It isn't the first time he's developed tonsillitis and can look after himself in general, but Sherlock is still slightly worried about his husband. What John is going through once again is not the sort of mildly under the weather which head colds cause; during those, John is still likely to go to work and to make Sherlock tea. No, this is the sort of properly ill that makes John stay in bed for several days, feverish and miserable.

"He could have his tonsils removed," Sherlock explains to Violet. "He fulfils all the criteria for such an operation, but he knows what it's like for adult patients to recover from a tonsillectomy, and having heard enough horror stories from patients about complications, it appears he'd rather suffer through a few tonsillites a year and having to dig out tonsil stones with a spoon handle once a week than do the sensible thing and get this sorted."

Before Violet can once again complain about the graphic contents of the things her son says in casual conversation, George Holmes walks in and places a thin pile of correspondence and the parish newsletter on a side table. He gives his wife a peck on the cheek and his son a clap on a bony shoulder. "Forgot to bring in the mail yesterday; your mother kept me so busy all day, preparing."

"Considering how much of a fuss she makes for when John and I come to visit, she could reconsider the amounts of things she cooks so that she wouldn't then have to invite more people over. Usually, the pickings are insufferable."

Sherlock is not keen on tonight's dinner party. Couldn't Violet have held such a torturous thing on Sunday evening when he had already left?

"Angela's related to us," Violet reminds him.

"Only distantly."

"It's still family," George says pleasantly, before turning to his wife. "Letter from you from Royal Sussex, dear. Must be a copy of your GP letter, I suppose?"

Sherlock's interest perks up. "Royal Sussex?" He lifts himself half out of the chair to snatch the letter off the table. "What speciality?"

Violet wastes no time in circling the table and tugging it out of his hand. "Never you mind that."

"Why _wouldn't_ I mind?" His eyes narrow, and he studies Violet from top to toe. "Your gait has changed, and you divide your weight differently when you sit on the sofa. There was a bottle of paracetamol in the toilet when you usually keep all medications in the cabinet in the hall. Have you had a procedure?"

"Nothing worrying, dear," Violet says and stuffs the envelope into the front pocket of her apron. "Just some lady things. All benign."

Sherlock's jaw descends, and his brows lift incredulously. " _Lady things_? It's called gynaecology. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because there's nothing you can do at this point. It's all sorted now."

"I've seen all of Dad's patient records," Sherlock insists.

George has puttered off to the hall, presumably to hang up his wax coat and kick off his wellingtons.

"It was much more serious, and you were able to help. My problem is fixed, and we can all now put it out of our minds," Violet insists cheerily.

Sherlock watches her, his frown denting the skin between his brows into a V. The silence stretches on, but he doesn't raise the subject again.


	2. Unspoken

> _"If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself."_ —George Orwell

Violet is on her feet in the corridor the moment the appointment room door opens. Though the psychiatrist must have seen her name on the day's list, she still appears cautious — surprised that she has shown up? It's peculiar that Joanna Pichler doesn't conceal such a reaction. Violet has seen her appear calm and composed even when facing Sherlock's fickle moods and petulant anger. Clearly, she has outstanding skills in schooling her features into the sort of a neutral mask which one would expect from a mental health professional.

Violet doesn't really think she needs the services of any psychiatrist or therapist; she knows her mental health is much less brittle than her son's, and she has navigated a marriage, a challenging motherhood and an academic career without having to go moan at someone how stressed she was. No, she's here because — for some strange reason — her William has decided to trust this woman and to value her advice over that of his parents. It is a bitter pill to swallow that Joanna Pichler appears able to communicate with her son in ways at which Violet has repeatedly failed. This therapist knows parts of her youngest child which Sherlock actively seems to conceal from her, and Violet actively battles the notion that the doctor and Sherlock have teamed up against her, blaming her for things in Sherlock's life beyond her control or influence.

Despite all that, she needs the psychiatrist's advice because there is no one else she could turn to. George won't discuss these things with her — won't even understand why they matter. He keeps saying that there is little use in dwelling in the past, refuses to see how it is Sherlock and not his wife who has chosen to go down that path. Such is the mess in which he has now also involved Violet, and Sherlock seems to want answers, confessions, atonement… even though he doesn't have all the facts. Whether those facts should be offered to him is another matter, and that is why Violet is now darkening the doorstep of someone she should loathe on principle for intruding in family matters — even if in a benign, professional capacity.

Joanna Pichler extends her hand for her to shake. "Violet," she acknowledges; "good — albeit surprising — to see you."

"Yes, well," Violet manages, "I accepted your invitation for that support group."

She wonders if she should emphasize assuming that the invitation had been a one-off. It hadn't appeared as though the therapist had intended for her to feel like an equal to those women; her children are grown, now, and any advice on raising them would be just hindsight. She is merely someone who could provide some long-term perspective to the familiar dilemmas those parents are facing.

"Come on in," Doctor Pichler says, gesturing towards the open door. Once seated, she doesn't immediately start asking questions, although she has a pen and pad in hand.

Violet had come here with a purpose, yet now, she finds herself rather tongue-tied. How does one segue into such personal matters with a near-stranger? How on _Earth_ had her William — _Sherlock_ — ever managed to open up like that when he won't even tell his mother about his problems?

"What can I do for you, Violet?" Pichler finally asks.

"How is Sherlock managing these days? Is he… alright with things? His autism?"

"I think he'd be the best to answer you. Has something happened that has given you cause to worry?"

"No, no, not at all. In fact, I may have thwarted a problem."

The psychiatrist raises an inquisitive brow. "Go on."

"Ever since George, — his father — fell ill with cancer, Sherlock has been privy to all his health information for practical reasons. Erroneously, Sherlock assumed the same would apply to mine. I recently had an operation for quite a harmless issue, and some copies of my records were sent home. I wouldn't let him read the letter."

"How did he react?"

"He let the matter be. Wouldn't have put it past him to sneak around, to search for the envelope later and read it, anyway; he's always been much too curious for his own good, and of course he has no sense of personal boundaries. Once he'd gone upstairs, I read the contents of the envelope and burnt all of it in the fireplace before he could get to it. They must have those records at the hospital too, since they have all these electronic systems now, and my GP was sent a copy of the discharge letter. No need to keep any of that in the house."

"You don't think Sherlock would respect your privacy? As a physician, he must know that any medical matters should be revealed only at the discretion of the patient. A child-parent relationship wouldn't automatically make someone privy to those things. How open is he about his own health to you and your husband?"

"Sometimes I think he wouldn't tell us anything unless his husband prompted him to do so. My son-in-law is such a Godsend." Violet smoothes down a crease in her dove-grey pencil skirt. "He thinks I said no because it was a gynaecological matter — that I was embarrassed. If that's what he needs to believe, so be it."

"But that's not the real reason, I presume? That you burned the records sounds quite… should I say dramatic? At least within this context of just wanting to preserve your medical privacy?"

 _She is good_ , Violet admits. Not that she thinks her son would ever have put up with someone slow and stupid. Sherlock can't abide people with lesser intelligence, which is why the pitifully average children at the village school regularly beat her poor boy up. She swallows and primly arranges her hands on her woollen skirt-covered knees. It feels logical that memories of Sherlock's school years would come to her instantly; they are connected to what he is attempting to discuss for the first time in so many years.

"Violet?" Doctor Pichler is seeking eye contact.

She'd been so lost in thought that she must have been quiet for longer than is socially acceptable. ' _Useless daydreamer_ ' is how her father had often described her. She'd loved school, mathematics in particular, and never could understand why other children were not fascinated by such things. Admittedly, she had often daydreamed her way through other, much more tedious classes… She physically shakes her head to break this train of thought and to re-engage with Doctor Pichler.

"I don't think about it often anymore. George never wants to discuss it. You know how it was with men in those days. Everything related to women's health made them uneasy. But I would never let him claim it wasn't a decision we made together," Violet explains. She's aware of not sounding all that coherent — how does one discuss something for which the right words have never existed?

She continues, pushes on despite her unease. "I never wanted him to find out; we decided it was for the best. Why make a deal out of something that was never… that wasn't even…"

 _That's not right_ , she thinks. _She existed. Though she never got to meet her family, she existed._ Only Violet and George are privy to the secret of her brief existence; there's no trace of her anywhere but in those dratted hospital records. There is no grave, there are no toys or clothes. She was but a brief flicker, a plan never executed, a future never realised.

"We decided it was for the best," she pleads, the pitch of her voice strange and high and distant.

"Violet––" Doctor Pichler tries to interrupt.

But Violet cannot stop now. She didn't have the words for this then, and the years in between haven't helped; unless she says it now, she fears the silence will take over again and she'll have lost her momentum. "George was gone because of work for so much of the time and Sherlock was being so troublesome; we hadn't found the right therapists, I was still trying to work, and all the diagnoses he'd had up to that point hadn't been very helpful. There was no plan," she insists; "nobody could tell us what would happen when he began school, if he'd grow out of some of it, though we knew, of course, that was always unlikely or impossible. It was simply the wrong time. I doubt he would have coped well having to share my attention when he seemed to both reject it and need it so much all the time. _I_ couldn't have coped. That's the only thing I was certain of, that I couldn't. Not with Sherlock being such a handful. George wasn't happy with the decision, I could tell, but how could he disagree with me? He was hardly ever there! What did he even know about what it was like?"

Violet surprises herself with the burning anger that bursts into flame like a match being struck. "I said no, and he had to respect that, because I told him the only way we could have managed was if he had stopped working, too, and pulled his weight. He wouldn't, so that left us with only one option."

The confusion she expects on Doctor Pichler's features isn't there. Perhaps she truly is clever enough for Sherlock to appreciate. Violet is perfectly aware that she hasn't said the words out loud yet, but Joanna Pichler may well have deduced what is being discussed.

 _It would be easier never to say it out loud, but that's not the way therapists operate, is it?_ Violet wonders. _Hiding things and circling them but never quite facing the issue head-on_ _is why therapists insist people suffer and end up in therapy in the first place._

"I would ask if there was a miscarriage, if you hadn't already explained about your difficult circumstances," Doctor Pichler says, her tone soft as she is leaning slightly forward. "You came to a decision to terminate the pregnancy?"

Violet is taken aback by how commonplace and rational it sounds. So… detached and clinical. The opposite of how it had felt all those years ago.

They had not been trying to decide whether to have another child. What they were forced to decide was whether to terminate what already existed. They had relations so rarely, and Violet had been so exhausted that she was lucky to remember her own name, let alone whether she'd taken her pill every morning. She must have just forgot. Perhaps William being difficult had distracted him one morning, though he can hardly be blamed for something that was an adult's responsibility.

_I just forgot._

"Sherlock could have had a sister. He _had_ a sister. At least that's what they told us. Those ultrasound machines back then weren't so good, as you must know; I hear that they still can't promise a hundred percent accuracy in determining the gender," Violet laments. "Nowadays, young people seem to think that an… medically ending a pregnancy just an alternative to prophylactics. Back in the day it was… one didn't speak about such things so freely. Or at all."

Violet feels a sudden need to demand the doctor's confidence, to ask for an assurance that her words will stay between them, but refrains because that comes with the territory of Doctor Pichler's profession, does it not? The last thing Violet wants to appear to be is some irrational hysteric.

"I understand. It can't have been an easy decision. Did you and George ever wish or try for a third child?"

"I should have liked to have a girl. Two boys in the house…" Violet gives a tight smile. "We spoke of it sometimes when there was just Mycroft, and when Sherlock was still… when we still thought he was normal." She half expects the psychiatrist to correct her, to point out that such words shouldn't be used about autism, but it's just semantics — choosing a different word just sugarcoats things and doesn't change the truth that he was always different and always will be.

"No matter what the reasons for it are, an abortion is never a simple decision — not even when the pregnancy is not viable," Doctor Pichler offers.

"We put it out of our minds, George and I. What was done was done. We sent Sherlock to stay with some relatives while I recovered. We couldn't have him in the house; the whole thing was just so…"

She had tried to stiff up the lip, to not dwell on it once the decision had been made, but couldn't. He had hated George a bit in those days for how well he concealed what was going on. "Sherlock would have been distraught, seeing me — us — like that. Children shouldn't see their parents upset."

"I'm not sure I entirely agree with that. Witnessing different emotional reactions and especially seeing others receive the emotional support they need when they are suffering can be an important part of developing a child's sense of basic emotional security."

"But we could hardly have explained to him what was going on! You can't really think he would have understood anything about that?"

"I didn't insinuate that you should have explained to him the details, just that it is not harmful for a child to see their parents emotional when there is cause for it. The pregnancy was not planned, then? The boys didn't know that you were expecting?"

"Of course not. No, we didn't plan it, and it was such early days, anyway."

"You mentioned you sent Sherlock to be looked after by…?"

"It was the only time my sister ever agreed to mind him for any period; he was a menace to her."

"What did you tell him was the reason for the visit?"

"I think what George told him was that it's good for children to learn how to visit relatives on their own. That it was good practice for Harrow."

"It was likely quite difficult for Sherlock to adjust to a new environment so suddenly."

"Yes, it was. I… when I have raised the subject with him that he wasn't the only one who had a difficult time of his childhood, he dismisses it completely. It's always all about him, never mind his family. He doesn't know, and he doesn't understand what we gave up for him. Perhaps someone else could have coped with him _and_ another child, and it's not his fault us is what he got. That he was my son and not someone else's. Maybe it would have been better for him with a different sort of a mother, but we don't get to choose our children any more than we get to choose our parents. It is what it is but sometimes… I just wish that, instead of being so resentful, he could understand what we sacrificed for him. What _I_ gave up for him."


	3. Burden

Doctor Pichler puts away her pen and pad. "I just want to clarify–– what was the procedure you had, and how does it connect to the decision you and George made?"

"I had a hysterectomy. The reason was a benign myoma; nothing for my boys to worry about, no need for advice from Sherlock or his husband. They assured me it was very much a routine procedure, and I stayed only three nights at the Princess Royal — the Haywards Heath one, it's quite close to us."

Doctor Pichler nods. "Quite a common operation in your age group, yes."

"It's just that the records show how many times you have been pregnant, don't they? And they list all the procedures one has had before; I told them, of course, to make sure they had all the information. Sherlock would have known the minute he saw any details saying I'd been pregnant more than twice, and he never lets things go. There would have been questions. That's what he was like as a boy, too — never mind if someone told him a topic was just for adults. That only made him keep asking."

"How would you have answered those questions if Sherlock had read the letter?"

Violet glances towards the window; bare branches are dancing outside in the brisk wind. It had been November then, too, everything outside bare or decaying and dying when George had driven her to Brighton for that… other procedure. They didn't tell anyone. It wasn't something people talked about. Back then, many people didn't think it was a good enough reason to do it that another child would not be good for the family. She recalls her own mother declaring the whole thing to be something not becoming a good Christian after reading some newspaper article. She had passed away when Sherlock had been seven. She'd often told Violet that she just needed to discipline her children better — that autism was just some fashionable word for incompetently raised children. 'I expected better from you than to fall for such nonsense,' she had told her. After the death of her second husband — Violet's father had passed away many years before and she had remarried — she'd moved to France to a house inherited from distant relatives, so the boys never saw their maternal grandmother much. That is something Violet does not regret. Camille Vernet had been cold and relegated childcare to nannies. Giving up caring for her own children like that was something Violet had sworn never to do, and she'd kept that promise to herself.

George was different. He'd spent his childhood in boarding schools. Always amicable, always liked but never the leader of the pack, easily adjusting to whatever circumstances necessary, he must've been the ideal pupil for such institutions. It was obvious Mycroft had inherited many of his good traits.

And Sherlock appears to have inherited all of her bad ones, as well as a mind so terribly far removed in its structure and machinations from anyone else in the family.

"If I knew what answer to give him, I wouldn't have come here," she finally answers.

"Did Sherlock's brother ask about your hospital stay back in the day? Did you talk to him about the pregnancy?"

"No, no, he never found out, either. He was at Harrow, and we didn't want to distract him from schoolwork. No benefit to him worrying about his Mummy. He knows Sherlock spent five days away, but we told him it was to help him adjust to Harrow in his big brother's wake. Mikey seemed to believe us."

Dr Pichler remains quiet for some time. Then, she shifts in her seat and asks, "Would it be important to you for Sherlock to understand the sacrifices you've made?"

"He's always been so resentful. I don't think he's interested in understanding anything about me — just exacting some manner of revenge on what he sees as my foul deeds. As you must have noticed, he can be so very obstinate."

Doctor Pichler's mouth twitches up the tiniest bit. "How would you characterise your relationship with Sherlock currently?"

"Push and pull. He tries to push us away and reacts when I refuse to accept such a thing. George tells me to give him space, but that has never led to anything good with Sherlock. I don't know what he expects out of these therapy sessions. Instead of really listening to me during them, he just looks like he's about to march off any minute."

"I can assure you that Sherlock is impressed with your willingness to join him for these sessions. And I wouldn't use such words lightly."

"Well, _I_ am impressed that he would swallow his pride and seek the help he must still need. He never wanted any therapy when he was young; must have been that he so loathed being told what to do."

"Sherlock and I have discussed extensively his childhood experiences of therapy, and I believe the subject came up during our second joint session. Do you recall what we discussed?"

"He accused me of selection outdated therapeutic approaches when he was a boy. But how was I to know which ones would become outdated? It's preposterous to claim that he needs therapy because he _had_ therapy as a child. I always assumed professional help was something he would need throughout his life."

"Some autistic individuals do, but not all. It depends on many things: their coping skills, their communication level, their other psychological and physical issues. Sherlock is, of course, what would have been described back in the day as a high-functioning autistic person, which comes with many strengths but also its own set of challenges. That being said, many neurotypical medical professionals seek counselling during their careers. It is an emotionally taxing profession, and it's best to address problems before they begin to affect one's ability to practice. Such a profession requires quite sturdy mental coping skills."

"Which is why we were so against him attending medical school."

"Do you still oppose his career choice?"

"How would I go about opposing it, exactly? He doesn't listen to me and does what he pleases."

"He has advanced far in his career."

"I just worry about the cost. He could have chosen something else which would have made his life so much easier. I… I hate to see him frustrated. I always felt as if I didn't quite know what to do, how to fix it. What you said about the medical profession and coping skills… you see, he's never had any insight regarding his mental health. Things must have got very dire before he would agree to any sort of professional help?"

"I'm afraid I cannot go into those details."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he blamed me for even that," Violet prompts.

Doctor Pichler's expression is carefully controlled, bland. "As I said––"

"––you cannot disclose anything he's told you. Well, that answers my question, really."

"What about George and Sherlock's relationship these days? How would you characterise their interactions?"

"He's grown closer to George again, of which I am, of course, very glad. It's me he has decided to vilify. When an idea takes hold in his head, it is very hard to change it. Perhaps there is no reaching that boy."

She suddenly remembers John chiding her during that dreadful Christmas for using such terms to describe Sherlock. _'That boy is thirty-five years old'_ is what John had told her. She had told him that Sherlock should then behave his age.

She _knows_ her son is an adult, but when she looks at him, she can't help thinking back to when he was still willing to need her. In some ways, Sherlock as an adult is even harder to handle and to communicate with than when he was small.

"At our last session, Sherlock spoke of George's stay with the two of them here in London. He seemed happy with how it had done."

"He seemed angry, even vengeful, towards _me_ about George's illness — as though I'd done something wrong when I was just so worried! He clearly wanted to show off to me that he didn't get emotional, that he understood all those medical things better than us, but that wasn't the time or the place for such a demonstration. Mind you, he took such good care of his Father; I must say I was most astounded."

"Sherlock is capable of great empathy; it's just that expressing it is difficult for him. That empathy thus manifests outwardly in only certain situations, since he cannot always recognise when others could benefit from his expressing it."

"If you say so." Violet wishes some of that alleged empathy might extend to her, too.

"I would like to rephrase my earlier question: how do you think Sherlock would react, as an adult, to learning about what happened to the pregnancy?"

Violet rearranges her handbag on the sofa beside her. When she's nervous, she often feels the need to organise things, to see things arranged in a geometrically pleasing manner. Folding laundry or setting the table has always calmed her. "Perhaps he'd be as pragmatic as he always tends to be and not care. His sister would be nothing but an abstract entity to him, a theoretical concept. I doubt he could imagine any sort of a connection to her. But, I suppose it largely hinges on how he would be told about her."

"That is a very good point, one we might explore further. Do you think there could be a way to tell him about the pregnancy–-"

"Why won't you say _her_?" Violet snaps. "We had a name for her; she would have been _Euros Camille_. We didn't think of her as a _pregnancy_ — just like I didn't think of Sherlock or Mycroft like that when I carried them."

Doctor Pichler is quick to lean forward, her calm expression rippling to something more pained and open. "Apologies; I didn't mean to offend you. Perhaps I do not yet know whether it would be more helpful for you to distance yourself from what happened, or to think of her as you would a child who'd been born and then lost. There are no standards to these things, no universal blueprint to how people grieve."

"I had no time to grieve," Violet scoffs. "I had a special needs child to look after, a household to run, and another boy at school."

"Which approach do you think would be more helpful for Sherlock? To speak of her as a little sister, or in more clinical terms?"

"It doesn't seem right to claim that she was our child when we as good as abandoned her." Violet bites down on her lower lip, hard, hating the onslaught of emotion this topic is bringing forth.

Sometimes, during the years between, those emotions have blindsided her. Sometimes, when she is looking at photo albums of her boys when they were small, she finds herself imagining a small girl in the pictures, pigtails and a white cardigan, running after her brothers in a size-too-large hand-me-down wellingtons. The forced silence surrounding her when it all happened paralysed her; she'd never quite known whether she was allowed to grieve, or whether the sadness she felt should just be shoved away like the shame of their choice.

"If you wanted a third child, it's perfectly alright and normal to grieve for the loss of that possibility, whatever the reason why she never came to be."

"Because of what we did, what we chose…" Violet clears her throat; tears would be useless after all these years. "It felt as though we had no right to make a fuss about it."

"According to whom? Who told you that you had no right to feel guilt, grief and perhaps even regret, sometimes?"

"We didn't need to be _told_ ," Violet scoffs. "There was nothing to grieve!"

"Have you ever heard it said that grief is love with no home? That we grieve the things we cannot show love to anymore? We can grieve the loss of a loved one, and we can grieve the loss of a relationship, because the feelings we have towards those individuals no longer have a direction."

Violet has no gravestone to visit. As far as anyone else is concerned, she has two children.

"I get the impression that, rationally, you feel it was the right decision for you and George and Sherlock that she wasn't to be a part of your family?" Doctor Pichler suggests, "but the emotional side of things still gives you pause?"

Violet nods. It's odd how telling someone about her — something she has never expected to do — doesn't quite feel as cataclysmic and she'd expected. So much time has passed. The world has changed. Nothing reminds Violet of her, because there are no traces of her anywhere. Not even the womb she'd carried her in remains. No toys in the attic, no books in rooms left behind by children now all grown. No photographs. She hadn't bought any things for the baby, conflicted as she was right from the start about her arrival. Things with Sherlock had escalated during the first months of her pregnancy and she had felt so overwhelmed, so over her head with him she couldn't spare a single moment to rejoice about the discovery that she was expecting. There were things in the papers and TV about maternal stress during pregnancy causing all manner of problems for children, perhaps even autism. Violet wonders if experts still believe so. She hasn't picked up a book about autism in decades. Why would she torture herself with all that, now? Her part is over, and her son has no idea how much old, scarred-over pain he keeps ripping open by demanding a reckoning with the past.

Doctor Pichler looks thoughtful. "There are sacrifices you made so you could do your best to look after Sherlock. Your intentions were good, and you chose to make him your first priority. However, the decision you and George made not to have your daughter is consequently deeply connected to him. Your motives were understandable but, considering the current status of your relationship with Sherlock, would he understand why you would share such a piece of family history now?"

"I suspect he would just interpret it the way he always does — that I'm trying to make him feel guilty or put him in his place. Or make it all about me. It's his favourite argument these days to accuse me of narcissism. If only he realised that I had no time for myself when he was small. On most days, I felt I barely existed beneath the weight of it all."

"Coming to an agreement that you both had a difficult time during his childhood would go a long way in taking our three-way dialogue forward. The way you just explained how you felt back then is something which I think might be beneficial for Sherlock to hear. My experience with him is that he is very willing to listen to another person's perspective once he's been able to expel some of his anger."

" _Some_ of it? What on earth has he been doing so far, then, during these sessions, except unleash it all on me?"


	4. The Decision

The psychiatrist looks slightly hesitant. "Perhaps we should return to the question that brought you here today. You said that you were unsure of whether telling him about his sister would be a good idea or not. In telling him, you would extend the pain you feel over losing her into Sherlock's emotional sphere. Would doing so offer any benefits for him, do you think?"

Violet sighs. "No, I suppose not. He wouldn't treat her as a sibling because she never… She never _was_ that. Perhaps he would have liked to have a sister, in which case he'd just be cross with us, perhaps angriest with me for making that decision, and Lord knows he doesn't need more excuses for that."

She rearranges her legs so that her ankles are slightly to the side. She's always felt uncomfortable crossing her legs; it wasn't how she was taught to sit as a young girl. "It sounds as though you think I already made the right decision by refusing to let him read those hospital records."

"It is for you, and you only, to decide whether it's important for you to continue keeping such a painful secret. Would you consider telling Mycroft, your eldest now, as an adult?"

"I doubt he'd understand the purpose of such a conversation; he's inherited George's pragmatism. Our Mikey lives very much in the present and looks to the future; he's not sentimental, does not cling to the past like Sherlock does. I do wonder, though… Sherlock likely remembers that summer, remembers being sent away for a few weeks."

"Children often remember periods from their childhood which were clearly difficult for the family, but often they don't quite know why. Sometimes, finding out the answer may be helpful because it explains strange memories, but there needs to be careful consideration whether that assumption applies here."

"It's just as you said — we made the decision because of him. He’s our son and we love him and didn't want to give up on him by spending much of the time and energy he needed on a third child. I wanted him to have the best chance of a good life under the circumstances, the best chance of getting along with others! There was only one of me there for him since George was away so much; if we'd had another baby George worried that it could only have worked if we put Sherlock into— into— _care_ , and I would never do that!" Violet exclaims, attempting to remain calm, but she still finds the old anxiety rising.

There had been conversations with George about all this when they were trying to decide, conversations where they explored all the options, but she wouldn't hear it if he tried to suggest sending Sherlock away. It was an unfathomable idea to give up on him like that. Violet had refused to even discuss it because the thought felt as though they were discussing replacing him with another child who perhaps might have an easier time growing up because they refused to believe she could have Sherlock's difficulties. Girls weren't really diagnosed with anything like that in those days.

"I have never tried to claim I was perfect or particularly suited to look after someone like William, but I did my homework; I got him all the help I could and now he resents me for it. Those women in the support group, they understand the kinds of decisions you have to make and how you must accept that this is what your life is now like and how alone you are with all of it! They have so much more support now, bless them, but you heard them: it's still so hard. I had _nothing_ , and I was at home with him trying to do my best. With a baby added in, I just... I couldn't!”

"You'll find no judgement from me, Violet. There are many reasons why having another child can strain a family’s resources to a breaking point. When the legislation legalising abortion for reasons other than just the mother's health being in danger was formulated, this is precisely what the people writing it understood.“

“She was still my daughter, and I had to choose Sherlock over her.“

Doctor Pichler puts away her pen and pad. "If you tell Sherlock about her, will it more for you or for him?"

"Both," Violet wastes no time in responding, then second-guesses herself. "Maybe. I don't know, do I? He might see it very differently."

"Regardless of how you'd phrase it, I suspect he could easily interpret it as more pressure being put on him to fulfil expectations or that you were placing blame on his existence for a decision you made. One theme of many of our discussions has centred on the frustration he feels for never quite measuring up to your standards. And––" the psychiatrist raises her hand just as Violet is about to protest, "––what those standards are is something the two of you may never agree on. My starting point to working with Sherlock always has to be to accept his feelings, to help him find words for them and to explore them in a way that makes them understandable for him."

"Wouldn't it help him understand why I wanted him to do well — that it was because we focused all our efforts on him?"

"Not really," Doctor Pichler says bluntly. "Worst-case scenario is this: it would signal that he now carries the responsibility for fulfilling your plans for not just himself but the unrealised potential of his sister, too."

"What if I told John?"

"Not a good idea. You'd be putting him in a difficult position as a spouse, knowing something Sherlock doesn't."

"I thought that the silver lining here would be that if he saw things from my perspective, which you and John insist he's capable of, then he might return to me, stop alienating himself. He now wants George's attention, not mine."

"You have both told me that he didn't have very much of it growing up. Receiving such attention from his father now, as an adult, allows him to start without a lot of baggage. The amount of your attention he received, he often considered overwhelming and excessive. His words, not my analysis. It will be the lens through which he sees and interprets your actions now. If you want to repair your relationship, you need to listen to his side of the story and accept it as equally important to your own. You will help him return to you best by supporting his autonomy in setting boundaries and by accepting his account of his life. Only when he starts to feel emotionally safe in your presence when it comes to the boundaries he is setting, can he take steps forward to being closer to you."

Violet glares at her. "I thought psychotherapists weren't supposed to take sides or give direct advice."

"Perhaps you are thinking of psychoanalysis. Constructive confrontation and helping a patient make good decisions can be an important part of cognitive-behavioural therapy, which is my framework."

"Leaving him alone seems to be precisely what Sherlock is after. It doesn't seem like he wants anything to do with me."

"You are still his mother — his words, not mine — and that makes you important, regardless of how difficult your relationship is. He has taken several active steps in sharing things in his life with you. It means that he has not given up on you and thinks your relationship warrants making an effort."

"I detest how he tries to dictate the way we interact, the way he threatens to cut ties if I don't comply with his conditions."

"As I said, he is in the process of finding a comfort zone for interacting with you. That takes time."

"I don't want to pretend his sister never existed. I want her to be a part of this family. Don't I have to a duty to _her_ memory, too?"

Doctor Pichler looks slightly evasive, answering only after a courteous delay. "I would never want to deprive someone of the chance to find closure in what has clearly been an intense, even traumatising experience for them, but in this case, I would advise you to prioritise your relationship with the living children you have. Love and responsibility drove your and George's decision; that you are still torn over that choice is a testament to that. Most parents have things in their past which don't belong to the knowledge of their children, and it's a healthy part of growing up that children no longer feel the obligation for full disclosure of everything in their lives to their parents."

"But if I don't tell Sherlock, then what do I say? He was suspicious about my surgical records; I could tell. What if he asks me about it again?"

"You don't have to disclose personal medical information to him if you don't want to. The fact of his profession does not change this. It's now a bit of a conflict of interest that I know about this, now, but it's not the first time something like this has happened. I do couples' therapy as well, and allowing people to make their own decisions about disclosure and allowing things to take their time is always the best approach. Sherlock has made the decision that he wants to continue to involve you in his life. I would focus on that and let him set the pace."

It feels good for Violet to hear that the psychiatrist thinks Sherlock has made a conscious choice not to push her away. But how long must she wait for him to take some more steps forward? "He's like a skittish colt, ready to abandon his efforts at the slightest hitch. But if it's what he needs–– If you really think there is nothing that could be gained… that nothing good would come out of Sherlock knowing about her, so be it."

There is a third Holmes child, but only for her, within her, locked in a memory only she keeps. To deny this seems… unfair.

"You carry her memory, and I'm sure George does, too," Doctor Pichler reminds her. "You have every right to think of her as one of your children. There are many different circumstances which could have robbed you of a chance to get to know her."

"I feel like circumstances beyond both our control have prevented me from knowing my son, too, after he reached his teens."

"As long as he keeps trying to engage with you, that possibility is not lost. He simply needs to do it on his own terms."

"Perhaps," Violet sighs. "I wish things hadn't progressed to this level of conflict."

"Let me backtrack a little to what you said brought you here today. As I see it, there are two issues here. Firstly, your decision on whether this is a part of your family history that would be helpful to disclose to Sherlock. Secondly, I think we should consider whether it would be beneficial for you to explore this topic with a therapist. I assume you had little to no counselling when Sherlock was young?"

"You know how things were back then. They blamed us mothers. There were no support groups or therapists for anyone but the children."

"I'd make a recommendation, if I may?" says the psychiatrist.

Violet feels a sudden urge to leave. "Yes?" she asks, aware of the sudden cold draft in her tone.

"There is still a lot to unpack here, and I think you would greatly benefit by seeking a therapist of your own."

The short, sharp laugh from Violet contains no joy. "Sherlock is already seeing you, and we are seeing you together for his sake. That should suffice."

"Rather than for him or the two of you together, it would be for you. I could give you some names––"

"I'm surprised you aren't offering your own services."

Doctor Pichler regards her carefully, perhaps even a little evasively. "I must admit that my sympathies lie too much with Sherlock to be completely impartial. I also dislike having to conceal things from clients which I have learned from their family members."

"Then perhaps you should not have accepted my booking today," Violet snaps.

Doctor Pichler's now patient, careful smile does not waver. "I am glad you came to see me today, Violet. I was merely trying to explain that a more extensive therapeutic relationship between us would be complicated by my therapeutic relationship with your son."

"Because you're on his side." Violet sighs. "As though this is some ridiculous trench war."

"I am on his side because I must be on all my patients' side. Your and his takes on his life differ greatly in some key aspects and, in order to best advocate for him, he must be able to trust that I will understand and sympathise with his version of events even though I won't often validate his interpretations. In fact, challenging them is an important part of my work with him. However, the problem with treating two family members can be that they are both aware that I hold information which they might want to be privy to, things I have learned from the other party. That grates on trust and ties me into that interpersonal dynamic in a way that compromises my ability to be the impartial outside opinion."

Violet thinks Doctor Pichler's is hardly an impartial opinion if she is willing to admit freely to being on Sherlock's side. All of this just seems like some complicated word play, a tedious excuse for not wanting to be Violet's therapist. It's just as well — she has no need for such a thing. "Thank you for the suggestion, but there is little point in discussing it further. "

"I suggested that you might seek counselling of your own so that the things we discussed today wouldn't stand in the way of your relationship with Sherlock as an adult. I wish for nothing more than for that relationship to improve and thrive. I will gladly give you the names of several excellent colleagues who could help you with the closing of the books, so to speak, on this topic in a way that would allow you to come to terms with your guilt and your grief. I must stress that Sherlock cannot be that person. He cannot absolve you from those things because it's not his role, and also because there is nothing for him to absolve."

Violet rises to her feet, holds her purse protectively against her torso. "I'm aware that these days, your profession assumes everyone needs therapy — that everyone would benefit from dragging their past through some wringer. You have been very helpful today; it appears that what we've discussed is just water under the bridge. I know now to keep it there."

The psychiatrist rises hastily to her feet, goes to her desk and digs out an address book. She jots down some numbers and two names onto a yellow post-it which she passes to Violet, who puts it in her handbag without glancing at it.

She doesn't need a therapist; all she'd needed was an answer from someone who allegedly knows how to handle her son.

And that answer is: _some things are best left unsaid_.

___________________

Three days later, Violet's son-in-law picks up her call on the third signal.

"Hello?"

"It's Violet," she declares, though he must know this already. It's simply customary. "How are you, dear?"

"Good, good. Um––"

"Sherlock wasn't answering his phone. Not unusual, of course, but I couldn't help wondering if everything was alright."

There is a bit of sheepish hesitation from her son-in-law, then a chuckle. "He keeps leaving his phone on silent, says that if someone important needs to reach him they should know to text, instead. He's buried his head in the latest issue of one of his neurosurgery journals and keeps forgetting to eat any of his breakfast. I can take the phone to him if you'd like?"

"No, no, I just wanted to check. Not that I don't trust you to contact me if there's something going on. I simply… he's alright, John, isn't he?"

"Yeah, sure. Why wouldn't he be?"

"No reason. I just wanted to hear that today."

"Oh. George alright, then?"

"Yes, yes, he's fine. It's our anniversary tomorrow; he's taking me out." Retirement has its advantages. Violet had reminded him three times and this year, unlike on so many of the ones when he'd been working, George had even bought a new jacket and booked a restaurant.

"Sounds lovely."

"Well, we'll see. It's a very new restaurant by that chef who's on television these days. Sherlock wouldn't like it; it's one of those places where you don't get to pick what you eat, just a number of dishes under some abstract theme they keep changing. Oh, John, don't let him stay buried in his books all day, John. He needs company. He needs people."

"Alright," John replies, slightly puzzled.

"And give him my love," Violet adds.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk to him yourself?"

"No, no, I don't want to impose on your breakfast; I know free weekends must be a luxury for you two."

She hears Sherlock in the background, now, asking who's on the phone. She can imagine him rolling his eyes at the answer. _"What does she want now?"_ her son asks in the background, exasperated as usual when someone intrudes on him indulging in his interests.

There's no answer from John. Perhaps he has shrugged. Violet tells herself that it's fine and stifles the impulse to demand that he engage with other people when they want his attention because it's good manners.

Her William is all grown, now. Has his own life. She's still a part of it, so she can't have done everything _all_ wrong, can she?

"Tell her I'll call her tomorrow, if I must," Violet hears Sherlock instruct his husband, "unless it's some village charity nonsense."

Violet has always considered it to be one of her son's best characteristics is that he never makes false promises. If he says he'll call, he will do so. He tends to assume that her phone calls are about something significant to her but meaningless to him — he doesn't grasp that there needs to be a topic chosen when she wants to speak with him. Otherwise he'll just be silent and suspicious. He doesn't know how to answer general inquiries regarding his health and what's going on in his life: either his report will be too comprehensive, or he'll freeze and be unable to answer anything. He wouldn't know what to do with the fact that she had really called just because she had been missing him.

Perhaps she might ask him if he'd consider doing a violin concert at the upcoming village fete. It wouldn't be connected to his medical work — and Violet has never understood why he's so reluctant to lend his expertise for her charity endeavours — and he plays so beautifully. She hopes that his busy career hasn't meant that he no longer practices regularly.

No, she hadn't called to ask him a favour, but doing so might put him at ease. It would be predictable from his standpoint, give him the chance to bicker a bit in that familiar manner between them. A bit of innocent obfuscation feels like a small price for Violet to pay for the joy of hearing his voice and, perhaps, a bit more obfuscation is needed to keep hearing it in the future. As much as Sherlock values honesty and truthfulness, keeping certain truths to herself is something she _can_ do right by him.

— The End —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the amazing commentary on this tough story. I am humbled and honoured by the personal stories shared.
> 
> Doctors Holmes and Watson will return.


End file.
